


Moving In

by lyricalsoul



Series: Love and Happiness [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: After Mycroft's in Love, Dialogue-Only, Food Porn, Greg's shorts, Humor, M/M, Mrs. Landingham's strudel, Mycroft's Meddling, Oral Sex, Porn, Sex, Sherlock is curious, Sherlock visits, moving in, mystrade, scotch is an aphrodisiac, the road to love is bumpy, tiffs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-23 05:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalsoul/pseuds/lyricalsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Moving Day for Lestrade... the British Government interferes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moving In

**Author's Note:**

> I really thought I was done with this 'verse. However, after Mycroft asked Greg to move in, they wouldn't shut up about the things that could go wrong (and right). So, here's another series. 
> 
> To understand this bit, start with the Mycroft's Valentine series, on through Mycroft's in Love to here. 
> 
> Happy New Year and thanks to all those who support those who write Mystrade.

“Good afternoon, Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

“Anthea? Fuck… I mean… Yeah, sorry about that. He’s busy? Well, obviously he’s busy or you wouldn’t be answering… shit. Sorry.”

“Mr. Holmes is on an important conference call at the moment. However, he has charged me with providing assistance to you while he is unavailable.”

“Has he? Well, maybe you can sort this. I came home to get started moving, and there are… people in my flat. Putting my belongings into boxes. Why is that?”

“They’re the movers, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I didn’t hire any movers. And definitely not ones that look like James Bond in track pants.”

“Mr. Holmes thought it would be easier for all involved to use professionals.”

“Some of the guys from the Yard were coming round to help me.”

“Unfortunately, the house is not quite prepared for guests.”

“Oh, right. That house is spotless.”

“Security wise.”

“They’re coppers; does he think they’re going to make off with the silver?”

“The information with which Mr. Holmes works is of a highly sensitive nature, Detective Inspector. There isn’t really anything to be concerned with, but, ah… it is standard operating procedure for visitors to be thoroughly vetted before they are allowed free rein in the house.”

“I see.”

“Something tells me that you don’t.”

“I don’t want to shoot the messenger, so just have Mycroft call me when he has a free moment, hm? The _first_ free moment he has, Anthea. Not before the PM, but not after some junior minister who wants to shoot the shit about traffic on the A46.”

“Understood.”

***

“Gregory… my apologies. I was tied up.”

“Were you?”

“Not as your tone suggests. Anthea advised me that there was an issue with the movers.”

“Yes, there’s an issue. A big one. You know I don’t like being managed.”

“I didn’t manage you. We agreed that you would move in this week, most likely Thursday, your day off. It is Thursday, and you are being moved. I fail to see the problem.”

“You fail to see it, do you? When I move, I usually throw my things in a few boxes, round up my mates, load the stuff into a van and take it to the new place.”

“Ugh. Legwork.”

“Yes, but that’s what normal people do.”

“Fortunately, you aren’t moving in with normal people; you’re moving in with me. It is very noble of you to want to spend your day off doing manual labour, but you really don’t have to. The men charged with moving you are efficient, trustworthy, and they won’t break anything.”

“They look like they came right out of Vauxhall. Or a Bond Film. ‘The Spy Who Moved Me’.”

“‘Grunt work’, as it is called, is sometimes used on some of the more…intransigent agents who stray away from their purpose. Such exercises include moving detail, exterior painting of large edifices, fetching Sherlock, corgi walking, and arctic and/or desert patrol, so most agents work well to avoid it. Using agents for this work ensures a job well done... not to mention a mid to high level security clearance.”

“I wasn’t aware that my friends would need a security clearance to put some boxes in a van.”

“Not a clearance, per se…”

“Mycroft.”

“The explanation is rather complicated.”

“I’m no Holmes, but I catch on pretty quickly. Try me.”

“I may have neglected to mention that there are intricate security measures in place in my… that is, _our_ home. Un-vetted visitors… well, just aren’t possible at the moment.”

“The idea that you could neglect to do anything is rubbish.”

“We all have bad days.”

“You rarely do, though. And you certainly don’t have any like the one I’m having now. Having to explain to my friends that they aren’t _vetted_ and can’t enter my fancy new house where I live with my fancy man has all the markings of a very bad day.”

“When you say it like that, it sounds like you’re moving in with a poncy, overbearing, wealthy twat.”

“You’re not a twat.”

“A small comfort.”

“Look… I’m not really spoiling for a row, but I’m getting a massive headache from all… this. Why does everything about you have to be so damned hard?”

“I under the impression that you liked that about me.”

“Mycroft.”

“I am aware that I promised that I would be more… well, less… I am being honest when I say that it didn’t occur to me that you wouldn’t realize that I am… that I don’t just…. Dear lord, how you manage to reduce me to a stuttering idiot is beyond me.”

“Coppers tend to strike fear in the hearts of those straddling the fence of the law.”

“There isn’t an ounce of fear in my heart, Detective Inspector. I attribute my condition to the fact that I am besotted with you, and because of that, I behave like a giddy ninny whenever I hear your voice.”

“I’m writing this down to reference when we have a row about how to squeeze the toothpaste.”

“You are not allowed to touch my toothpaste.”

“Well, let’s not get sidetracked from the argument at hand.”

“Yes. It’s like you’ve been saying all along. My work… it’s not so much a minor position in the British Government as it is... well, it is really rather complicated.”

“Gosh, Mr. Holmes…are you a secret agent like James Bond?”

“Your sarcasm is decidedly not funny, Gregory.”

“I’m also decidedly not stupid, Mycroft. And I am an actual Detective Inspector… it’s not an honorific.”

“So then you should realize that living with me comes with heightened security.”

“Does it?”

“The keycard… oh, more sarcasm.”

“I could have been more accommodating, had you taken a bit of time to…hmm… what do they call it? You say words, then I say words back, and we do this back and forth until we reach a conclusion. Rhymes with stalk. Do you know the word I’m thinking of?”

“I am familiar with the word.”

“And?”

“Gregory, it was very presumptuous of me to handle the moving without consulting you. I only wished to make the transition as smooth as possible. I’m sorry.”

“Well, that’s something – an actual apology.”

“I’m learning.”

“In your own way, for certain. You get a B for effort.”

“I’ve never gotten a mark lower than an A in my life.”

“No? First time for everything, I suppose.”

“I can call off the movers. You can-“

“No. Just… I understand. I don’t like it, but I’m not… just talk to me first, all right?”

“Yes, fine. I am very sorry I didn’t consult you first.”

“Thank you. What are you wearing?”

“Gregory…”

“I haven’t seen you in five days. Last I saw, you were in your pants and that sexy robin’s egg shirt, sipping tea, and taking the hide off one of your clerks. Fancy pants, too… deep blue, very sexy looking against your milky skin.”

“Pale would be a more apt description.”

“Yeah, well, your Aunt Eugenia was cock-eyed if she didn’t see that you weren’t ‘sickly pale with freckles’, but like Devon cream dotted with berries. Christ…”

“Calm yourself. Though I am impressed that you are becoming more familiar with the fabric colours.”

“I’m having it off with Henry to upgrade my wardrobe.”

“Henry couldn’t keep up with you. And wouldn’t dare try.”

“True, true. So… you tell me what shoes you’re wearing, and I’ll tell you what you’ve got on.”

“You believe you can?”

“I know I can.”

“You’re very smug about it. How about a wager?”

“You’re on. If I’m right, you eat pizza with me tonight. No arugula, no prosciutto, no parmesan shavings, quail eggs, or wheat crusts. Just sausage, onions and peppers on a regular crust. Agreed?”

“Fine, but absolutely no onions. I despise them on pizza.”

“Then what’s the point? You can’t change the terms of the wager to suit yourself.”

“Of course I can. Deal or no deal, Gregory.”

“No onions, then. Extra garlic. And mouths only – no knife and fork.”

“How barbarous. Next, you’ll want to eat it in bed.”

“That’s a thought.”

“Perish it. And the garlic.”

“Cheater.”

“Fine. You can have your extra garlic. But if you’re incorrect, you can’t complain about anything else that happens in relation to your transition from your flat.”

“Which means you’ve got more in store for me, yeah? You’re on.”

“All right. Black wing tips.”

“Easy-peasy. Iceman suit.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Dark suit, pinstripe, whiter than white shirt, crimson tie with a Windsor knot, gold tie pin, cufflinks to match, paisley pocket square. Fancy umbrella. That’s full Iceman gear. Heads are going to roll today.”

“How did you know? Have you an in with my assistant?”

“You think I’m ringing up Anthea to ask what you’ve got on?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you in your more…mischievous moods.”

“Anthea’s voice doesn’t have quite the sexy quality I’m looking for when I ask what you’re wearing.”

“I should hope not. How did you know?”

“Well, my Mastermind, you Holmeses think you’ve corned the market on observation, so you tend to forget that some of us, while not as bright at it, actually observe for a living.”

“You are incredibly bright at it, Gregory. In spite of what my brother says. I find your doggedness incredibly sexy.”

“I find you saying ‘sexy’ like that arousing.”

“Focus.”

“Sorry. All right… it’s Thursday, and you like to do all your housekeeping before the week-end. Recalcitrant dignitaries, wayward agents, and unproductive sods all get dealt with on Thursdays. Only the Iceman can do that, and you can’t be the Iceman without that particular suit, or a variation of it. It’s the one that you wore when you tried to get me to spy on Sherlock, though the knot was a half-Windsor. Very sexy, that get-up. Had I not been a somewhat happily married man at the time, I’d have shown you just how sexy.”

“You took my cheque.”

“Sherlock promised we would split it. You were so cute, thinking you’d bought me.”

“I was under no such illusions. Had you not been so handsome and so intriguing in your cockiness, things would have ended quite differently.”

“So my good looks saved me being chucked in the Thames? Well done, me. It was a bit right out of a spy novel… you and your warehouse, being all menacing with your notes about my wife and my bank account. Leaning in close to intimidate me… It was such a turn on because you smelled delicious. You know… we should go back there and re-create the meeting. You could demand a blow so that I can keep my job, and force me to my knees, and I’d act reluctant, and use too many teeth, but get better at it-”

“Gregory, I must ask that we end our conversation at this point. I cannot terminate ‘unproductive sods’ with flushed cheeks and the line of my trousers distended.”

“You silver-tongued devil; doesn’t take much these days, it seems.”

“As much as you haven’t seen me, I have not seen you. And it may be tomorrow before I see you again.”

“Hm. Well, I won’t torture you, then. But I should let you know that moving is a hot and strenuous task, and I’ve taken to wearing cut-offs and a ratty t-shirt. I think there are holes in the back of the shorts because one of the movers… Liam, I think he said, is constantly making sure my wallet hasn’t fallen out of my back pocket. He’s very helpful… right at my beck and call. Are you sure you can’t make it home tonight?”

“It is Thursday, Gregory. Don’t rile me.”

“You’re going to terminate our relationship?”

“No, but Liam is on thin ice. I will see you this evening.”

“I thought you were working all night?”

“I am, but I feel it imperative to take a break to ensure that you are transitioning with ease.”

“Just popping in to mark your territory? You are a berk, Mycroft.”

“Just ensuring that Agent Tragg stays on task. You are dangerously attractive, Gregory, so I can’t blame him for lusting.”

“Well, don’t hurt him. And don’t forget the pizza.”

“I won’t, but trust me; it won’t be from one of those places that mass produce inferior pizza.”

“No arugula, Mycroft!”

“I am many things, but I am not a man who breaks promises. Sausage, peppers, extra garlic and disgusting ranch sauce for dipping. See you soon.”

“Even though you’re hell on my sanity, I love you.”

“And I you. Oh, and Gregory…?”

“Hm?”

“Leave the shorts on, if you will. It will be helpful to see what Liam is willing to risk his job over.”

*click*


	2. Of Shorts, Pizza, and Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft brings home the pizza as promised. Lestrade is still wearing the shorts, which Mycroft finds arousing. Sexy times ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and for the kudos and comments. I really, truly appreciate each and every one of you.

“Gregory?”

I ease the bedroom door open, and am quite amused to see him sprawled across the foot of the bed, head pillowed on his arms,  feet hanging over the side. A quick glance at him shows a paper cut on the inside of his left thumb (cut himself wrapping glass figurine in paper), trail of dust on the back of his shirt (took a tumble in the attic of his old flat),  and a small bruise on the back of his right calf (bumped into the coffee table). No wonder he’s asleep. 

The still hot pizza box goes on the chest at the foot of the bed, and I go to work divesting myself of my clothes. And not for the first time since I took up with Gregory, I regret wearing so many layers.

I strip down to my shirt and trousers, and take a seat on the bed. He hasn’t stirred. Probably ran himself ragged trying to help the moving team, as he wouldn’t want to be appear to be pampered or a kept man. Silly notion, but he’s rather conscious of what people think of our relationship, so I’m sure he did much more than his fair share of the heavy lifting. I run a gentle hand through his hair, and then continue the touch down his back, to the waistband of his shorts. Well, I use the term ‘shorts’ loosely, because those aren’t shorts in any traditional sense. The way they cup his arse is nothing short of a crime, and I realize that I can hardly blame Liam for his reaction to them. They are rather… revealing. And sexy. Showing off his beautifully muscled legs, and pert arse… how could one not succumb to lust?

(Note to self: call Anthea and have Liam removed from Corgi detail)

Gregory shifts and breathes out a small sigh when my finger pokes him through the hole to the right of his left pocket. “Hedonist,” I say, noting that I can see his pants quite clearly through the hole. (Black boxer briefs which are almost as long as the shorts themselves.)  

“Mmm…” He lifts his head and squints at me. “Time is it?”

“Half eleven.”

“Three hours late.”

“You aren’t going to be the nagging boyfriend in this relationship, are you?”

“Depends. Are you going to be late often?”

“Most likely.”

“Then I’ll lower my expectations.” He yawns. “Busy night?”

“Yes. And if you want to assign blame, the Ministry of Hot Air versus Italy is the cause of tonight’s delay. Never have I felt more like knocking heads together than I did tonight. Very tedious.”

“I’d pay money to see you knocking that lot about.” He rolls over and groans. “I am never moving again.”

I draw in a breath to say something along the lines of ‘I should hope not’, but I am distracted by the front of shorts, the view of which is even better than the back. There are two holes – one on each side of the zip that clearly show his pants, and if one looks closely, one could determine his religion. Quite tantalising, those holes. I want to see him in those shorts without the pants, and perhaps poke my tongue-

“You’re ogling me.”

I blink and look away from the holes to his face. “Was I?”

“Yes.” He wriggles his hips. “I take it you like my shorts?”

“Is that what you’re calling them? Very… casual. And rather short.”

“They are, aren’t they?” His tone is pure devilment as he spreads his legs to show the rip along the inseam. “I pulled them out, and was going to bin them for being too ratty, but once I got them on, I decided they were too comfy to toss out. Do you think they’re too tight?”

“Not too…well, you do have nice, strong legs, and a remarkably fit arse that those, ah…shorts, show off quite well. Very distracting.” I tear my eyes away from the growing bulk behind the zipper, and reach over for the pizza box. “I’ve brought dinner, as promised. We should eat it before it gets cold.”

“Heaven forbid we should eat cold pizza.”

“I abhor cold pizza. Rubbery cheese and congealed toppings. Disgusting.”

“Coppers can’t afford to be picky like you posh government types. We can’t stop an interrogation to warm up a slice.”

“Heaven forbid.” I flip open the pizza box. “I do hope this meets with your approval.”

He peers at the pizza, then looks up at me with a frown. “There are green things on it. And …that better not be prosciutto.”

“Lardons, kale, and butternut squash,” I correct. “And only on a quarter of it.”

“You promised.”

“I kept to the spirit of the law. You have your sausage, peppers, onions, and garlic on seventy-five per-cent of it.”

“A man of my word, you said.” He shakes his head. “Kale. On pizza. How did I ever fall for you?”

“You couldn’t resist my watch fob, you said.”

“Well, there is that. But really, Mycroft… kale and squash?”

“I couldn’t possibly go to Rigoletto’s and not get my favourite, could I? Anthony would have been insulted.”

“I’ve never heard of Rigoletto’s.”

“Just a small bistro, not far from here. The sausage is excellent – made in house, as is the smoked mozzarella.  Pizza is not generally my meal of choice; however, I’ve found Rigoletto’s to be unrivaled as far as taste and the quality of ingredients goes.”

“Pizza Hut would have been fine,” he huffs. But he takes a slice of the sausage topped portion. “Doesn’t look too bad.” He takes a healthy bite, and chews thoughtfully. “Oh…”

“Oh?”

“Oh, my god,” he moans, taking another bite. “This is divine.” He wolfs down the entire slice in three large bites. “Damn… that's amazing, Mycroft.”

“I knew you would enjoy it.” I take a slice of the kale topped portion, but at his grunt of protest, I put it down, and pick up the sausage slice. “Neanderthal.”

“Posh git, with your kale.”

“It’s good for you.” I take a small bite, and nod. “Very good, though I expected no less from Rigoletto’s. Not very fond of the peppers, but overall, not a bad experience.”

He reaches up and takes the pizza from me. “Oh, go on and eat your abomination.”

“Thank you. Would you like to try it?”

“Only on your lips.” He waggles his eyebrows, and puts  the sausage slice back in the box. “You eat it, and I’ll kiss you senseless. How does that sound to you?”

“I couldn’t possibly eat while you’re watching me like that.” But I take a bite anyway, and watch his eyes that are fixed on my lips as I chew. “The squash is sublime, and the lardons… exquisite. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to take a bite?”

“Well… I suppose I could branch out a bit, and make sure I’m not missing something.” He’s up in a flash, pushing me to lie flat on the bed, and straddles my hips. “Feed me.”

“Gregory…” I protest, but seeing the lovely gleam of lust in his eyes, I give in and hold the slice out to him. “Bite.”

He takes a nip and frowns. “Oh… Mycroft, that’s awful!”

“It is an acquired taste,” I defend. “There are worse combinations, including poached eggs and kimchi.”

“A crime against pizza,” he says. He leans over, takes the pizza slice from my hand, and places it in the box. He and presses his lips to mine. “That makes it a bit better, but not by much.”

“We’ll agree to disagree then.” I move my hands to waistband of his shorts. “Not to change the subject, but you are aware that your pants show through the holes?”

“They’re tiny holes.”

I put two fingers in the hole near the zip. “Not really.”

His hips arch up a bit at my touch. “I wouldn’t let anyone touch me this way, though.”

“I should hope not.” I push up to my elbows. “I should get out of these clothes and have a shower.”

“Yes to the clothes part,” he says, smiling down at me. He unbuttons my shirt, and runs his hands along my vest. “Were you born fully dressed?”

“I’ve taken off most of my clothes.”

“Bet that took the better part of an hour.”

“You’re putting a damper on my ardour, dear Gregory.”

He moves his hips against mine, no doubt feeling my growing erection. “Not that I can tell.”

I answer with a hip move of my own. “You should be a detective.”

“Enough talking.” He bends and kisses me.

The kiss is playful and teasing, but it’s not enough. My hands unfasten his ridiculous shorts and push them down below his arse. I grab a handful of said arse and knead roughly.

“Mmm…” he moans into my mouth. “Great hands. Soft, but firm. Perfect.”

“Yes.” I want to move him off me so that I can get out of my trousers, but I can’t seem to let go of his arse. “Gregory…”

“I know. But you have to let me go so you can take your trousers off.”

“I can’t,” I moan, and bury my face in his neck, embarrassed that I’ve gone from zero to insanity in just under two minutes. “Unfortunately, moving will only make it worse.”

“Aw… you missed me, didn’t you, Mastermind?” He nudges my face up, and presses his lips to mine for a brief moment. “It’s all right... I feel just as out of control. I want you right now, hard and fast. But I also want you slow and easy. So, work with me, yeah?”

“Yes. If you wouldn’t mind moving…?”

“Of course.” To my dismay, he slides off my lap, and onto the floor. He unfastens my trousers and tugs them, along with my pants, down and off. I hear them land somewhere near the corner. He ducks his head, inhaling deeply. “You smell… I love how you smell, Mycroft. And this hair…” His hands rake through my pubic hair, then up the shaft of my cock. “So hard…”

“I am,” I groan, thrusting myself into his grip. “Keep doing that.”

“Got better plans.” He opens his mouth, and takes my cock inside in one hot motion. God… it’s so much more than I imagined, and it is different each time he does it. His mouth and tongue worship me with heat and wetness and suction… I groan at the intense sensations each pull of his tongue creates.

I tug at his hair, guiding him as I thrust forward gently but urgently, trying to not choke him, but wanting to get as far inside as I possibly can.

“Mmm…” He pulls off and looks up at me. “Not enough?”

“It’s…” I take a deep breath, recalling that there is only to be totally honesty between us. At least in bed. “Ah… no. I mean, you are, as always, perfect, but it’s…”

“Shh…I know. Scoot up a bit.” He stands, drops his shorts and pants, and is back on top of me before I can appreciate the view. “There.”

“We need… where’s the lubricant?”

“I had time on my hands, so I got myself all ready for you,” he says, grinding down on my lap. “Ready when you are.”

“This moving in together seems to be working to my advantage. Coming home to you in such a mood is quite good for my ego.”

“Sex on demand,” he grins. Then he moves a hand back to position my cock, then slowly sinks down on it. “God… Mycroft… oh…”

“Is…” I swallow hard and will myself to relax a minute. It’s been the better part of a week since we’ve had actual intercourse, and I am already at the edge. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, fine,” he says, moving up and down slowly, building a slow, erotic rhythm that is driving me mad. “Come on, come on. Move with me.”

I try to follow the pace he’s setting, but it’s too slow, too frustrating. “Gregory, I can’t.”

“Try. Slow and steady,” he breathes, taking my hands and putting them at his waist. “Easy, just like that.”

“Fine, fine.” I grip his waist, and move as he moves, thrusting up as he moves down, falling into the easy pace with him.

“That’s so good… just perfect. Keep going, keep fucking me like that.”

His words spur me on to grip him harder, and pick up the pace just a bit. “Like that? Is that good?”

“Yes,” he moans, and pushes down harder. “So good… harder…”

I thrust up hard and fast, giving him – and myself – what we both want. I can’t recall ever feeling this needy, this heated, so overwhelmed with wanting that I can barely control myself.

He takes his cock in hand, and begins jerking himself, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut. “Mycroft… please… give it to me.”

“Yes…” I fuck him faster, harder, using my feet as leverage to thrust upward, while pulling his hips down. “Perfect, just perfect... so tight and warm around me…”

“Oh god…”he moans, and his back arches as he comes across my stomach, where my vest has bunched up, exposing skin. “Mmm…” He collapses on top of me, spent. “Don’t stop, please.”

“No,” I pant, gritting my teeth against the clench of his orgasm on my cock.

He laps at my neck, then moves down, and takes my left nipple between his teeth, right through my vest. He tugs at the nipple, then bites down gently.

At the nip of his teeth, my self-control snaps. I thrust into him as deep and hard as I can, over and over, hoping to god that I don’t hurt him. “You…oh, god, what you do to me, Gregory.”

He bites me again. “Oh… that’s good… hard and deep, Mycroft…”

“Yes, yes…”  I feel my nails digging into his arse, holding him tight against me. “Dear god.” I latch my teeth on his shoulder and bite down hard as I come so intensely I see flashing bits of lights behind my eyelids.

He squirms, and pushes my head away. “Bloody vampire... that hurts!”

“Apologies,” I pant, shuddering through the pulsing aftershocks of my orgasm. “I got carried away.”

“Shh… I was teasing,” he says gently, stroking my hair. “It was good, Mycroft. Just perfect.”

“Mmm… I agree.”

He laughs, slides off the bed, and stretches. “Jesus… I’m going to be sore in the morning.”

I sit up with alarm. “Was I too rough? I got rather caught up in the moment there at the end.”

“Mycroft.”

“I’m merely making sure. It would kill me were I to hurt you in any way.”

“You bit me rather hard, and I can still feel your nails in my arse. Other than that, I’m perfect. Shower?”

“Perhaps a soak?” I suggest, frowning at the marks of my fingers that are forming on his hips. “There’s wine, and I can warm the pizza.”

“Sounds good.” He smiles and leans over to kiss me. “Pizza and wine in a Jacuzzi tub… this living together thing is the best idea you’ve had since last February.”

“I find that I want nothing more than to indulge you, Gregory. To see your beautiful smile directed at me in response to something I’ve done is a great source of pleasure for me.”

“In other words, you like having me about? So, my work here is done then.”

“Not just yet.” I get up, and look at the wreck of the bed. “You’re going to have to help me make the bed.”

He groans. “We should have a post-sex cleanup crew.”

“That would be rather embarrassing, I think.”

“I suppose. Before I start the bath, I have a question.”

I look at him, trying to parse out what he could possibly ask, but come up blank. “What is it?”

“Liam.”

“What about him?”

“What did you do to him?”

I shrug. “Nothing that can’t be reversed with a text. Don’t worry… I didn’t hurt him.”

He sighs. “You can’t threaten everyone who might be attracted to me, Mycroft.”

“I know. And I can hardly blame him, with you swanning about in holey shorts that accentuate your arse, and make you look like you just stepped off the cover of a lewd magazine.”

“Sherlock-fetching, or Corgi-walking?”

“Corgi-walking. I’ll text Anthea and have him returned to the office tomorrow. All right?”

“Fine.” He leans in and kisses me. “No need to be jealous, Mastermind. I only have eyes for you.”

“That’s reassuring.” I hold him close for a few moments, then let him go. “Thank you for consenting to live with me, Gregory.”

He blushes and ducks his head. “Go on with you. I love you, too.”

I head for the kitchen, tamping down the urge to whistle as I go.

***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's pizza is a real thing. I made it last week, and really enjoyed it. You can find it here: http://www.thekitchn.com/recipe-pizza-with-crispy-kale-butternut-squash-bacon-smoked-mozzarella-recipes-from-the-kitchn-178188.


	3. Three Rules for Dating My Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the blissful night with Mycroft, Lestrade wakes up to Sherlock, who has come to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who read, and comment, and give kudos. It makes my heart sing.

The smell of coffee wakes me. 

Dark roast, steaming hot, somewhere nearby.

I’m generally not particular about how my coffee is made, since the coffee pot at the Yard is mostly warmed-over swill. But Mycroft started enticing me with this coffee in the mornings, and got me hooked.

Pizza last night, and now coffee. God, I love this man.

I burrow my way from beneath the pile of blankets and reach a hand out to snag the cup, aching to take a long, luscious sip.

A strong hand grips my wrist. “Talk first.”

I let out a loud groan at Sherlock’s voice, and blink the sleep from my eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?" I roll over, and feel the other side of the bed. Cold. Damn. “Where’s Mycroft?”

Sherlock lets my wrist go, and settles back in the chair he’s pulled up beside the bed. “Don’t be annoying. Get up.”

“Must be dreaming.” I press my hands to my eyes, hoping that when I take them away, he’ll be gone.

“Very childish. I’m still here, and won’t go away until we’ve had a little chat. So, up, up, Detective Inspector.”

“Christ.” I move my hands, disappointed that he hasn’t gone. I glance at the clock, and shake my head. “It’s seven in the morning, we’re not working on a case right now, and I’ve taken the morning off.”

“So I’ve been informed,” he says. “Moving out of your flat must have been hard work. Should have let Mycroft’s minions do all the work, and not let your ego lead you to do most of the heavy lifting.”

“Too early for all this, whatever it is. Especially before I’ve even had a piss.” I shove the blankets off, and swing my legs off the side of the bed, but keep the sheet strategically placed when I realize that he isn’t going to budge off to the other room. “You realize I’m naked, right?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“And you’re just going to sit there while I get up?”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he smirks, no doubt thinking of all the times he’s broken into my old flat and caught me right out of the shower, or worse, mid-fuck. “ _Gregory_.”

“You haven’t seen it after your brother’s had a go at it, have you?”

That wipes the smirk right off his smug face. “Just get up, Lestrade,” he grumbles, turning toward the window. “Don’t dawdle.”

“You can always sod off, you arse.” With a huge sigh, I shove my feet into my slippers, stand up, and head for the loo, morning wood and all. Thankfully, Sherlock is still facing the window, so I scurry past him before he decides to do something crass like ask if I’ve measured myself, offer to measure me, or start in about what Mycroft and I did last night, and just how long we did it. Or worse, ask about the bite on my neck.  As I close the door to the toilet, I turn and catch him looking at my arse. Well, at the marks Mycroft made on my arse. I laugh at the blush on his cheeks and shut the door forcefully.

***

Ten minutes later, I come out of the lav, teeth cleaned, face washed, wearing my ratty moving shorts and a t-shirt, feeling a bit more human. I stalk past Sherlock, who is back in the chair, pick up the still mostly hot cup of coffee and take a sip. “Horrible. Since you know precisely how I take my coffee, I can only imagine that you’re trying to drug me.” I set the cup down, and sit on the bed. “What do you want?”

“You’re obviously already drugged, wearing those… shorts.” He stares at me for a long bit, then shakes his head. Probably deduced that I’m not wearing any pants. “What are you doing, Lestrade?”

“Wondering why the hell you’ve broken in here to ask me stupid questions.”

“Must you be so consistently idiotic? What are you doing with my brother?”

“I’m sure if you really put that great brain of your to work, you can figure it out. Might be a bit difficult, since we did re-make the bed when we were done wrecking it.”

“Yes, thank you,” he snaps. “I don’t really want to know the more intimate details. I just want to know why my brother, who is a creature of habit, has foregone his routines, and seems to consider you worth his time. I did broach the subject with John, but he told me to butt out, or ask you myself. So, I’m asking. Nicely, too. Doesn’t that count?”

“No.” When dealing with a madman, it’s best to keep it simple. “Go away.”

“Not until I’ve ascertained your motives concerning my brother.”

“Oh, Sherlock… is this why you’ve come? To warn me away from Mycroft?”

“I’ve tried numerous times to warn you off him, but you’re very stubborn. I simply want to know what you’re doing here. Living with him.” He shudders. “Sharing a bed with him.”

“I think it’s obvious.”

“His overall… grossness… aside, I can’t see what you see in him. He’s an overbearing, pretentious know-it-all, with delusions of godhood and a penchant for sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong. He’s the British Government!” He frowns. “The notion that you love him is ludicrous. You are considered reasonably attractive, and could have your pick from list of candidates, should you say the word. But you’ve chosen Mycroft, who is quite unlovable to everyone except my mother.”

“Are you having me on?”

“No. My mother thinks he walks on water.”

“He probably could, if he put his mind to it.”

“It would be ‘legwork’, and he’d sink. He’s fooled you.”

“The same way you’ve succeeded in fooling John into following you around, hanging on your every word?”

“John is different.” He takes up the cup of coffee and has a sip. “He’s interesting, helpful, and an asset to me, to my work. You are boring, predictable, and I fail to see how you being with Mycroft enhances him in any way.”

“I can think of several.”

“Sex? Sex is dull.”

I laugh at that. “Of course it is to you, with John not being gay, and you being married to your work. But I wasn’t only talking about sex. We’re friends. Lovers.  And we care for each other.”

“Mycroft doesn’t have friends, nor is he capable of caring for anyone other than himself. Or scheming, plotting, and planning. And please, spare me the details about his sexual prowess.”

“You’re the one who keeps looking at the bed with that deduction look you get.”

“Mycroft,” he goes on, averting his eyes from the bed, “has allies, enemies, assets, and agents at his disposal. Which are you?”

“His person of significance. And if you can’t deal with that, too bad because I’m not going anywhere.”

He looks at me through narrowed eyes, and I fight back a shiver. I never want to be the object of Sherlock Holmes’ full on focus, but he’s on a tear, and won’t stop until he’s satisfied. “I know you can’t be bought, since many have tried and failed. You don’t want fame, either, since you could have taken credit for all the cases I’ve helped you with. How about a promotion? I can solve your toughest cold case… the boring one you’ve been trying to get me to look into for the past year… what was it?”

“The missing sapphire murder.”

“Yes, that one. Leave my brother, and I’ll solve it for you.”

I fold my arms across my chest and stare at him.

“It’s a legitimate offer. Just tell Mycroft you’ve changed your mind, or it’s not him, it’s you, or whatever drivel people say when they want to call it quits.”

“He’d know I was lying, and that you had something to do with it. Besides, if you knew who murdered Countess Vaughn-Smythe and stole her priceless stone, you’d have solved it already. Just… go away, Sherlock. I’m not going anywhere unless Mycroft tells me to – not that he will.”

“And if I say I won’t work with you as long as you continue this madness with my brother?”

“I was a copper long before I met you,” I say firmly. “But you should think about the consequences before you do anything so rash. You’ll be bored out of your mind in a week without a case. You’ll start shooting the walls, and driving John so mad, he’ll go out and find himself a girlfriend. That will make you even worse, and you might take up bad habits again. So, don’t go threatening me. I love your brother, and you’ll just have to deal with it. Or just go your way, and I’ll go mine.”

He laughs, and sets the coffee down. “Bravo, Lestrade. You ring true every single time. Mycroft said I wouldn’t be able to scare you off.”

“You arse… you and Mycroft cooked this up?”

“Mycroft is quite sure where your loyalties lie, and warned me to not to come by.”

“You never listen, do you?” I get up, grab my dressing gown, and tug it on. “I’m having breakfast. You can see yourself out.”

“Mrs. Landingham has made strudel, so I’ll join you.” He unfolds himself from the chair, and stands. “I’m not done with you.”

“Is the part where you warn me not to break his heart up next?”

“Mycroft doesn’t have a heart, so that would serve no purpose.”

“Oh. That’s a relief.” I go to the kitchen, and find a strudel waiting on the countertop. “Still warm. Pour me a coffee, please. No sugar this time.”

He ignores me in favour of leaning against the sink. “There are rules, Lestrade.”

“Rules?” I cut through the strudel and put a slice on a plate. God bless Mrs. Landingham. “For having strudel?”

“Dear god… has all the sex you’re having with my brother addled your brain?”

“I think it may have,” I say with a wistful smile. “And after last night-”

“Rules for being with my brother,” he cuts in. “Three rules, in fact.”

“Oh, wait… don’t tell me,” I say with as much sarcasm as I can muster. “Let me have a guess. Don’t hurt him, don’t cheat on him, and don’t kill him? Or you’ll kill me, right?”

He accepts the plate I’m holding out to him, and examines the strudel intently. “How trite. He can detect those things himself, and would banish you to policing on an ice cutter or something equally soul-crushing were you to cheat on him.”

“You think so?”

“Oh, Mycroft is the laziest devil in shoe leather, but can be very vindictive when the mood strikes. When I was younger… about seventeen, if memory serves, a constable got a bit too enthusiastic while arresting me, and found himself on a cacao plantation emptying waste buckets. Mycroft is a man of many resources, and has hidden talents. He is also a light sleeper, so killing him would be near impossible.” He eats a bite of strudel and hums appreciatively. “Besides, you’ve already hurt him once.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but he wasn’t the only one who got hurt in that. He and I have already moved on from it.”

“He’s a Holmes… he doesn’t forget.”

“Maybe not. But he forgave.” I cut another bit of strudel, and eat it straight from the pan. “And so did I.”

“Rule number one: do not abuse the trust or the power.”

“What? I wouldn’t-“

“Yes, you would. Imagine having a boyfriend that can banish your enemies with just a word from you. You can have Dimmock transferred, or have some strings pulled for your informant with the penchant for getting caught in prostitution stings. You know how desperate you can be when things don’t line up to your liking…”

I can feel the vein in my neck jumping. “Listen, you sod… I haven’t ever asked Mycroft to help me on anything work-related unless it had to do with not throwing your arse in jail. If you’re thinking that’s why I’ve taken up with him-“

“Calm yourself, Lestrade.”

“You’re about two minutes from my fist in your face, Sherlock. You swan in here, wake me up, ogle my arse, eat my strudel, and insult me… on my morning off, as if it’s not bad enough that you do it on a regular basis at the Yard. I don’t need your damned rules, nor do I want you here talking to me as though you give a shit about Mycroft. You’re just possessive with what you consider your belongings, and just don’t want Mycroft to have me.”

He sighs. “Oh, please. This is not about me. Rule number two: Do not break him. He knows very little about love as an emotion, and it would be very bad if you took advantage of that. Though I do not understand what on earth you two could possibly see in each other, I expect you to treat him as something you treasure. He won’t stand for it, but do it regardless.”

I frown at that. “And you know all about love, do you?”

“Rule number three: Do not try to change him. By accepting the reasonable facsimile of love he has offered, you have committed yourself to accepting him as he is. He really is the most dangerous man you’ll ever know, Lestrade, and I beg you not to take that lightly. You will see and hear things that won’t set well with your misguided, yet useful morality. You have to deal with that in your own way, but you can’t change him. It will hurt him if you do, and in turn, you weaken him. You’ve already done it once; see to it that you don’t do it again.”

“I know you mean well, but your brother can take care of himself.”

“Of course he can. But opening himself up to someone, even one as dull as you, comes with a price. Something for his enemies to exploit, should they get an opportunity.” He snorts. “It would be laughable if it weren’t so painful to watch. And since this is the second time I’ve watched, I would prefer that the outcome work in his favour this time. Falling for that airhead at uni… I’d just rather he didn’t suffer the indignity again.”

“Yeah, yeah… I know all about it.” I do not want to talk about Colin with Sherlock. “Or what?”

“What?” He shoves the plate toward me. “More.”

“No.” I shove the plate back at him. “If I break your rules. What happens?”

“I haven't decided,” he says with a shrug. “But it will be slow, painful, and merciless.”

“Oh, you’ll just ask John to shoot me.”

“Shooting you would be too merciful. Besides, John likes you for some strange reason, and would balk at harming you. I have no such compunctions.”

“Big words from you, his archenemy.”

“He is still my brother, and my mother would nag at me were I to let something horrid happen to her precious lump of flesh.”

“Sounds like someone is jealous.”

“How ridiculous.” He snatches a bit of strudel from the pan and pops it in his mouth. “My brother goes to the Diogenes because he doesn’t like people. He’s cold, unfeeling, and anti-social, yet here you are, living in his house. Tell me, Lestrade… doesn’t all that ice bother you?”

“Ice melts when heat is applied,” I reply with a smug smile. “And he isn’t that way with me.”

“He’s that way with everything. You’ll see.”

“Right. Well, I have a few rules of my own.”

“Boring.”

“One, keep your nose out of our business. Two, break in again, and I’ll keep you off cases for two months. Do you understand?”

“Mycroft expects me to break in,” he protests. “It’s what keeps his security people on their toes.”

“Yeah, well, leave me out of it.” I take a gulp of coffee, and then stare at him over the rim of the cup. “You can go now.”

“When I’m done.” He taps the plate. “If you would be so kind…”

“Rule number three: stay away from my strudel.” I place the aluminum cover back on the pan. “Go home.”

“My aunt Eugenia will hate you because she adores Mycroft, and is still holding out hope that he’ll marry and have children, which is laughable. My mother… she'll be worse than I am, and will spend the time alternating between exposing your faults, and berating Mycroft for not visiting more often.”

“No worse than my family.” I laugh. “Besides, I’ve survived you. I can do anything.”

“Fine,” he huffs. He turns up his coat collar, and brushes past me. He stops, looks at the mark on my neck, and frowns. “One more thing, Lestrade.”

“No.”

“Just a question, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m not talking about my sex life with you, Sherlock.”

“I don’t want to talk about your sex life,” he scoffs. “I’m just curious about the, ah, mark on your neck. It’s not the usual hickey, or love bite, if you will. It’s more like a bruise or something that was caused by-”

“I know what it was caused by.” I try hard not to blush, but I can feel the heat creeping up my neck. Shit.  “Leave it alone, Sherlock.”

“I simply wish to know what… that is, did you do… something to him to him to bring about such a response?”

“Well, sometimes, when two people love each other, they want to express that love in a physical way. Do you understand?”

“Very funny,” he says with a great eye-roll. “What I mean is that it’s rather… animalistic. Not something I’d associate with Mycroft.”

“And that’s the whole point.”

“Does it hurt?” he presses. “It looks painful. Yet… you don’t seem to be in pain. Quite the opposite, really, though I suppose you’ll take great pains to cover it up when you go to work, since you’re not quite ready to let your colleagues know you’ve moved in with a man. Who happens to be my brother.”

“Aren’t you leaving?”

“I don’t see why you’re hesitant to discuss this with me, Lestrade. I’m simply collecting facts.”

“Listen… you want to know, ask Mycroft. Or better yet, ask John.” I grin at him. “Maybe he’ll show you, and you can have a mark of your own to analyse.”

To my great surprise, he blushes. “Fine. I expect you to be back at the Yard sometime today. I need to look over some files, and we both know Sargent Donovan won’t let me.”

“I wonder why? I’ll try to be in by one, but no promises. Mycroft might pop home for a nooner.”

“How tedious. Enjoy your morning off, Lestrade. Remember what I said about my brother.” He swirls out of the room, then sticks his head back in. "Oh, and you might want to check out that plumber who was doing work for the Countess. He may know something. Good morning."

"Wait, what... Sherlock!" I hear the front door slam, and bang a hand on the counter. "Bugger all. There go my plans to get a bit of sleep." I head back to the bedroom to get ready for work, wondering what the hell I've gotten myself into, moving in with Mycroft.

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Let's Straighten It Out: A Moving In Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An innocent phone call takes a wrong turning, and leads to a tiff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bridge between the last bit and the next. This was supposed to be phone sex, but these two... sigh. It's not angsty, just prickly. And they're all sorted at the end.

“Lestrade.”

“Ah, hard at work. Am I disturbing you?”

“No, no. I didn’t look at my phone before I answered. What’s going on?”

“A lull in negotiations, and I thought of you.”

“Did you? That’s flattering.”

“I am not prone to flattery.”

“Not true. In fact, I seem to recall some very flattering words being uttered during round two last night…”

“Perhaps not the best time to reminisce, Gregory.”

“I love the way you say my name like that. Very sexy. Enticing.”

“Yes, well… we seemed to have veered off track. I thought you would be at home, taking advantage of your morning off?”

“Sherlock ruined that for me, as you well know.”

“I didn’t realize his visit would drive you to work.”

“Well, it did. Hang on a tic… _You popping out to get a bite? Please…I’ll have the usual, chips extra dark. And I’m gasping for a coke. Here… it’s on me… thanks._ Sorry about that, Mycroft. Where were we?”

“It’s very kind of Sargent Donovan to get lunch for you.”

“Sally’s a good person to have on your side. Her feelings about Sherlock are another story, though after this morning, I understand them more.”

“I am sorry that I wasn’t there when he decided to visit. I trust you weren’t harmed in any way?”

“More annoyed that you left without a word.”

“I said many words before I left. I can’t be held responsible that you don’t remember.”

“Mycroft.”

“You tend to be prickly and combative when I wake you earlier than your alarm. And since I was called away at four in the morning, I thought it prudent to kiss you goodbye without actually waking you.”

“I must have been really tired if I missed the Kiss of the Mastermind.”

“So it seems. It was one of my better efforts, too. You responded rather well.”

“And then I wake up to Sherlock. Thanks for that.”

“Unfortunately, I was assisting the US Ambassador with a delicate matter when I was alerted to Sherlock’s presence on the property. I did send a text, but I suppose you were still sleeping.”

“That’s your overblown way of saying you wore me out last night, is it?”

“Had I not felt like I had been run through by a herd of buffalo, I would gloat. You also did more than your fair share of labour yesterday, loading the van. However, we should make a rule to see to each other in a more… timely manner. A week may be too long.”

“There is something to be said for the building up of tension, but not too much. I’d have you daily, if we could get our schedules to cooperate.”

“Ambitious.”

“You doubt my prowess?”

“Under proper circumstances, no. I do think you’re being a bit ah, optimistic, in regards to your stamina.”

“There’s an insult in there. As if Sherlock hasn’t been insulting enough today.”

“What did he say?”

“He has rules for me. Which all boil down to ‘Mycroft is an unfeeling block of ice, and you should run while you can’. Very annoying.”

“I do hope you don’t believe him?”

“Don’t be a prat. Of course I don’t. He’s just… he sees what you let him see, and knowing you, it’s not accurate. I know that what we’ve got going isn’t traditional, but I like it. I like you. And I have a keycard to your house, so you’re stuck with me.”

“That’s reassuring. Do keep in mind that it’s _our_ home. I don’t want you to continue to think of yourself as a guest, Gregory.”

“I’m trying. It doesn’t seem real to me yet. Maybe when I sell the old flat.”

“Ah, yes. About that.”

“Mycroft…”

“I am not managing you. I’m just trying to ease your transition, so to speak.”

“How?”

“I found a buyer. Well above the asking price. You can divide the proceeds with your ex-wife, and satisfy the terms of the divorce with ease.”

“How is this not managing me?”

“Let’s not get bogged down in semantics. This is me providing assistance to my person of significance. The line of demarcation is fine, but there is a distinct difference.”

“Christ… I don’t think you Holmeses can help yourselves, can you? You’re just an intrusive lot by nature.  Assisting, deducing… Sherlock, with his fascination with our sex life, and you, with your… you-ness. It’s just a bit much, you know?”

“It was never my intention to make you feel uncomfortable. You are free to sell to Mr. Holden, or to someone else. I only ask that you meet with him, as I would hate to renege on my word that you would consider his offer.”

“Mycroft, I didn’t-“

“I also apologise for Sherlock’s impertinence, and for any embarrassment he may have caused you. I have a late meeting, so don’t feel obligated to wait up for me.”

*click*

“Shit.”

***

I set my briefcase on the table by the door, and hang my overcoat in the closet. A drink and an hour of quiet contemplation in front of the fire will be a welcome respite from the shenanigans I was forced to endure tonight.

Once in the front room, I pour myself a healthy portion of scotch, foregoing the soda, and take a healthy swallow. The burn down my throat is a perfect distraction from the thoughts plaguing me this evening.

“A bit late to be swilling down the booze, isn’t it?”

“Gregory.” I am surprised to see him slumped in my chair in front of the fire. “I didn’t expect you to be up.”

“Yeah, well… we didn’t have a great end to our little chat, and I don’t believe in letting the sun go down on my wrath.”

“Seems a bit odd, since the sun has long set.”

“Not in my heart,” he retorts.

“Ah.” I take a seat in the other, less comfortable chair and cross one leg over the other. A psychologist would have a field day. “I’m not a fan of discussing my feelings, nor do I think there is a need to rehash our earlier discussion.”

“I wanted to apologise.”

That catches me off guard. “Unnecessary.”

“Yeah, well… I’m going to disagree with you, and tell you to bow to my expertise in such matters.”

I let out a small chuckle. “Says the man with an ex-wife.”

He chuckles, too. Another surprise. “Which is why you should trust me on this. It starts with the not talking, spirals into no sex, on to separate bedrooms, and the next thing, you’re sleeping with the PE teacher. I don’t want to do that again.”

“That’s a giant leap from a minor tiff to breaking up, Gregory.” I take a sip of scotch. “Besides, I am not fond of cheating. Alibis are shaky things, and I don’t have the energy to create fictional places to be when I have so many things to do in real life. Also, I am not angry with you at all. I simply do not like to argue without a purpose.”

“I don’t want to argue. Discuss might be a better word.”

“Your incessant need to patch things up due to the problems that happened in your marriage should not spill over here, Gregory. I am not like anyone you have ever had a… relationship with. I would prefer to move on from this, as it is not important.” I look at him. “Surely not important enough for you to have smoked three cigarettes.”

“I was upset.” He sighs, hauls himself out of the chair, and comes over to kneel in front of me. “I don’t like silences and passive-aggressiveness.”

“I did have to go.”

“It was the way you went,” he says firmly. “It was just the topper on a rough morning. Sherlock woke me up, ruined my day. I shouldn’t have lumped you in with that.”

“No.”

“I appreciate you making it easy to sell the flat.” He puts his hands on my knees. “Charles is a nice guy, and was very keen on closing the deal as soon as possible.”

“For his mistress,” I supply. “Well, one of them. The one lowest in the hierarchy.”

“Really?” He laughs loudly. “She’ll be disappointed at the lack of decent shops in the area. And the noise from the attic.”

I put my hands in his hair, and massage his scalp gently. “Getting yourself all worked up over nothing. Really, Gregory… even I know that’s no way to have a relationship.”

“Well, you’ve never been in a relationship with a woman, have you? You never know what’s going to set them off… could be you, or not you, but it will all boil down to being you. At least that’s how it was for me.”

“Women, politicians… there isn’t a difference.” I sigh. “It’s always you in the end. Shall we go to bed?”

His knees pop as he rises. “Sounds good. Are you hungry? Mrs. Landingham left something in the warmer for you.”

Taking his outstretched hand, I allow myself to be pulled from the chair. I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his neck. “There is nothing Mrs. Landingham could have that compares to what I assume you are offering with that fiendish glint in your eyes.”

“You caught that, did you?” He nudges my head away from his neck. “Sherlock is already curious as what I did to you to make you savage my neck like that. Keep your fangs off me.”

“You’re going let him deprive me of my favourite treat?” I rub my thumb over the mark I made last night, and smile. “You should have a matching one on the other side.”

He pulls my head down, and kisses me. It’s a possessive, passionate kiss that causes me to groan, slip my hands under his shirt, and fit him closer against me. He’s doing impossible things with his tongue, and not for the first time, I want to ravish him senseless, right where we stand.

I break the kiss, and hold him at arm’s length, shaking my head at the lack of willpower I display around him. “That is…” I clear my throat. “To bed, please. I need more of that. Much more.”

“Your wish.” He snatches up my glass, and downs the remaining finger of scotch in one swallow. “It’s an aphrodisiac. The taste of it makes me go all hard.”

“Then, by all means, let us take advantage of that.” I begin backing him up toward the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as I go. “A pleasant end to a grueling day.”

“Mmm…” is all he manages to say before I push him on the bed and divest myself of my own clothing.

We’ll deal with the rest later.


End file.
